


Return to Sender

by Soule



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9153535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soule/pseuds/Soule
Summary: Successor to "Winter Lights". Grimory remembers his Winter Veil gift and decides he wants to return it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to Shalaena Medford for helping me with editing! Go find her stuff and read it - it's amazing!

                “So what do you do for fun in that tower of yours?”

                Anarchaia looked up from her writings… or appeared to. The mask always covering her face left much to the imagination. “Tower…? The Hall?”

                “Whatever you wish to call it.” Grimory poked at their half-completed fire pit with a stick, pushing the rocks into a circle he found to be a decent size.

                “Reading, mostly… Puzzles. Research.”

                “I believe I asked what you did for _fun_ …”

                “We find that stuff fun. Knowledge is power, after all.” She straightened her back against the sturdy willow she’d settled under, stretching. Her bones crackled in a way that made Grimory wince. Her quill, floating and encased in a violet energy, awaited lazily above the parchment as she pushed her mask up, exposing dark teal lips. She produced a flask from beneath her thick, black belt and took a drink. “What about you? What do Demon Hunters do for fun on their space ships?”

                “The Fel Hammer isn’t a place for fun. It’s a place for combat training and strategizing.”

                “All right so what do Demon Hunters do for fun when not on their space ships?” She took another long drink.

                “I’m… partial to fishing, I suppose.”

There came a snerk from beneath the willow. “Really?”

“Am I meant to be ashamed of that?”

“No! No,” Anarchaia quickly responded. “I just didn’t take you for an angler is all. I’ve fished myself. Found it mentally unstimulating. Quiet. Boring.”

“Definitely the opposite of you.”

She _tsk_ ed. “Aw, how sweet!”

He hadn’t meant it to be a compliment but opted not to correct her. After the last rock had been put in place, Grimory tossed the stick into the center among a few others. “Hey, can you…?”

“Hm? Oh, sure!”

Fire erupted from the pit faster than Grimory had anticipated. The flames licked so closely to his face that his eyeballs instantly became dry and scratchy and he cried out. Falling back onto his hind end, he covered his face with his large, weathered hands. “ _Gods dammit, Ana! Warn me!”_ He hissed, frantically combing his fingers through his hair and eyebrows.

The sound of her giggle irked him and his eyes smoldered.

“Sorry,” she crooned.

Grimory narrowed an eye – she’d normally be much more apologetic. He shook it off, however, and stood, brushing the dirt from his pants. “What are you even writing over there?”

“Just some notes about the wildlife. The types of trees. The temperature. Why?”

“You do it every night. Don’t you think you’ve written enough? It’s been a month.”

“Better to write too much than not enough.” Anarchaia paused for a moment to tilt her head. “Why do you care?”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“You never talk with me.”

He opened his mouth to respond but found his words falling short. She was right – he didn’t. Up until recently he’d only been concerned with the performance of his assignment. Anarchaia had just been a tagalong… an escort mission. A liability. A pang of some sort of regret struck through Grimory’s chest and he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll stop bothering you.”

“I didn’t say I was opposed to conversation.”

A part of him had always hated how quick she was with her wit. It never left him any time to respond as quickly as he’d like to and it made him feel stupid but at the same time he respected it. “Put your things away and come have a drink by the fire, then.”

A smile graced her lips and she nodded.

The sun had just begun setting, filtering through the willow leaves and leaving streaks of orange and pink across sky and land. While beautiful, it was also very blinding and the two sat along the same side of the fire pit, backs to the brightness.

Anarchaia produced two mugs as well as a couple of flagons of mulled wine – urging Grimory not to ask where she’d conjured them from. She poured him a steaming cupful. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

The Blood Elf brought the mug to his lips, inhaling the cloves, cinnamon, and star anise. “What do you mean?” he muttered, sipping cautiously while staring into the fire.

“Why do you want to… hang out, per se?”

“I figure this mission will take some time. The company couldn’t hurt.”

She smiled what he could only guess was an endearing once. “No. It couldn’t.”

“How was your Winter Veil after we saw one another?” Grimory took another sip and glanced at her from the side. The question seemed to make her nervous.

“Uh I-I chatted with friends and lit the tree with Master Khadgar.” She cleared her throat. “Other than that not too crazy, heh.” She took a quick, deep drink, nearly finishing the glass in one gulp before pouring more. “Y-You?”

“I don’t remember much. Had a lot to drink.”

“You did,” she laughed. “Did you get any good gifts?”

“You could say that.” Grimory finished his drink and held the cup out. “Yourself?”

Anarchaia poured him a second glass. “Oh, heh.” She shrugged. “Master Khadgar got me a puzzle box. It’s really hard, though. It’ll take some time to solve…”

The shadows on the ground grew darker.

Anarchaia hiccupped into a closed fist.

“Why do you wear the mask?”

“I was…in an accident,” she said quietly, reluctance enveloping her voice. “I look terrible, now.”

“Your lips and chin look fine. How bad could it be?”

“I…” She took another long drink, seemingly steeling herself. “I’m not showing you so you may as well stop inquiring.”

The coldness in her voice was unexpected as much as it was uncharacteristic and it took him aback. “I’m sorry,” Grimory all but whispered.

She turned away, silently sipping more wine.

An awkward silence breezed between them like winter air.

Two beats.

Three.

Anarchaia hiccupped again and a moment passed before Grimory realized that this time it’d not been the alcohol to cause it. She was sobbing.

He pulled his ears back in a panic, the regret from earlier hitting him full force in his ribs. “A-Ana I’m sorry! I won’t ask anymore!” Setting aside his mug, he put a hand on her shoulder – a feeble attempt at being comforting. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“N-No,” she sniffled, her palms cupping her hidden face. “I-I’ve had too much to drink. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

He retracted his hand, not sure what to do. “Look,” he sighed, “you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Ever. I’m practically a stranger to you. I mean, we’ve only been acquainted for what? A month and a half? Two months? I completely understand.”

“My family was wealthy.”

Grimory stopped, not having expected her to speak at all. “Huh?” 

“We had a safe. In the cellar, hidden below casks of wine. Enchanted to be pick-proof.” She rubbed at her covered nose with a thin wrist. “Morohest Flayblade, a notorious thief in the area we lived in, picked up wind of it. He and his cronies broke into our home…”

He stared at her, incredulous. “Ana, you don’t need to-“

“They killed our cat on the first night. Left a note. _Leave the combination on your front step, beneath the rug._ No threats. Just a command. We, of course, didn’t do it.” She drank, her voice weak and quiet. “The next night they slit my mother’s throat while she slept. They did it so quietly that no one even woke up. We just found her the next morning.” When she attempted to continue, a squeak of sorts eked from her throat and she bit her lip. “We left the combination under the rug.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They took everything from the safe but when we went down to look there was another note. _Not enough._ ” Anarchaia brought her knees to her chest, pushing her hood back. “They came out of the shadows. Struck my father down where he stood. I reacted, trying to burn them down with magic, but I wasn’t fast enough. I was only nineteen… I’d only been studying for a couple years.” She finished her wine and set the empty mug down beside her. “They tortured me. Cut my eye out and forced me to eat it. Flayed the skin from my forehead. Did… things.”

Grimory could do nothing but listen, lips slightly parted in silent horror at what he was hearing.

“Master Khadgar had been on his way through the forest with a caravan. They heard my screams and came to help.”

“I-I…” He desperately wanted to say something – _anything_. Something profound. Something comforting. Something that conveyed how badly he felt. But he couldn’t.

She rested her chin on her knees. “So that’s why I’ll never show you my face.” Turning her head in his direction, she smiled a painful-looking smile. “So what about you? What are your parents like?”

He furrowed his brow in disbelief, jaw falling open. _This girl…_ “H-How can you just-“

“Are they nice? How do they feel about you becoming a Demon Hunter?”

The hint was taken. Grimory collected himself. “I don’t know my real parents, but my adoptive parents are very kind and supportive. Constantly asking when I’ll be married.” The last bit sounded as if it were meant to be a joke but his delivery was stiff and unemotive.

“Aw,” she said, placing a palm on his knee. “Sorry about your real parents.”

He glanced at her hand, then what he could see of her face. “Why are you so nice to me?” he blurted without thinking, making her pull her hand back.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anarchaia lifted her cheek from her knee. “Because you’re cold and rude to me most of the time?”

The muscles at the corners of his lips tightened. “…yeah.”

“I figure that’s just the way you are. But it doesn’t bother me. I like you for you.”

_I like you for you._

Grimory’s eyes widened slightly. Visions of Anarchaia’s half-hidden face flooded his mind. Blue moonlight washing over both of them on the floor. Cheers and song from outside. Heat. His loins tensed as a surge of tingling warmth sprung from them.

The sound of more wine being poured was heard as well as a single sniffle left over from her weeping. “Besides. You’re actually a pretty nice guy beneath that stony shell. I can tell.”

He could nearly recall the feeling of her lips around him, her fingers digging into his abdomen. The warmth had spread to his face and he turned his head. Grimory cleared his throat. “I…appreciate that. Thank you.”

She turned her head, feigning shock. “Did you just _thank_ me?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her snark.  “Don’t make me regret it.”

Her chuckle swam through his ears and she stood, fanning herself. “I always expect the nights here to be cooler than they are.” Anarchaia grasped at the back of her robes and pulled them over her head.

He could have blamed it on the wine, but Grimory’s green gaze quickly flicked to her backside – tucked neatly into tight cloth trousers. He scanned upward over the smooth, pale skin of her exposed back through the ties of her shirt. When she turned to throw her robes aside, however, his throat suddenly became dry and he was compelled to top off his mug, turning lest she catch him staring.

“Do you miss your friends ever?” she asked, taking up her spot once more and sipping.

“Eh. I see them fairly often.” Grimory also sipped – long and savoring. He closed his eyes. The visions returned and he had to shake his head. _Stop._ “I hardly have time to be lonely when you’re around anyway.”

Their gazes appeared to catch one another because Anarchaia gave a soft grin and turned away. “You… consider me a friend?”

“Are you going to cry again if I say _yes_?”

She laughed and gave him a playful push. “Oh, get over yourself!”

Grimory gave a quiet chuckle in return – a sound foreign to even himself at times. “Then yes.”

Even though the sun had fully set below the horizon, he swore he saw her blush and, for the briefest moment, he was worried she actually _would_ burst into sobs.

“That… means a lot to me…” she said, rubbing at a shoulder idly. “I don’t really have any friends, to be honest. People seem to find me… annoying.”

“I would prefer to call you _eccentric_ ,” he replied. “You’re loud and energetic but you have your moments of brilliance.”

Anarchaia put her hands over her face, only barely hiding her crooked smile. “ _Stop_ ,” she sang, laughing airily. “I don’t know how to take compliments.”

Grimory bit his lip, finishing his drink that he’d forgotten the number of. _She’s so…_ He set aside his empty mug and grabbed her gingerly by the elbow, pulling her hand away from her face.

Her head quickly turned to look in his direction, lips curled into a small, curious smile but ever so slightly parted. The light from the fire glowed orange against them.

_Cute._

He pulled her through the distance between them, pulling those shining lips to his own.

She sounded a small squeak of surprise but otherwise did not struggle.

Grimory pushed his lips into hers hungrily, running his hand up her arm when he was convinced she wouldn’t pull away.

Anarchaia resisted very little, allowing his probing tongue inside when bade to do so.

His hand crept up past her shoulder, stopping to cradle her jaw in his palm and tuck a finger behind her ear.

She moaned against his lips, sending another jolt through him from between his thighs.

Grimory pulled away for a breath.

“Why?” asked Anarchaia quietly before being silenced with another kiss – much like she’d been on that night barely a week prior.

_Because you deserve it,_ he thought, his answer remaining within his mind. In his slightly intoxicated state he chose to ignore another, more obvious answer.

She snaked her long fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, her warm tongue coiling around his.

The second time he pulled away for air, her teeth grabbed onto his lower lip – painful but tantalizing – and he could no longer resist. Swiftly, he seized her beneath her arms and pulled her into his lap. Her arse fell against the straining fabric of his breeches, thankfully not too heavily as to cause him any pain, but instead his breath caught against his Adam’s apple, wanting it to happen again.

“What’re you…?” she said in a small voice, but was interrupted by a large hand reaching around her to cup one of her small breasts.

“You thought I’d forgotten?” Grimory breathed into her covered ear, feeling her stiffen in his arms.

She put her hands over his, the fingers tensing as his wandering palm slowly ran over her stomach, down. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about- _G-Grim!_ ”

He ran a thumb over the soft skin beneath her pants, pushing a finger into the topmost part of her nether lips. Anarchaia’s thighs tightened around his hand. She’d begun to tremble. “Really? You don’t? Not even an inkling of recollection?” He removed his hand from her chest to unfasten the button holding her shirt to her collar. Her heart was pounding against his wrist and it amazed him that her skin remained so cool and dry despite the heat of the flames and air.

“I’m sorry,” she confessed, grasping at the hand in her trousers with both hands. “I took advantage of you…” Her body gave a jerk when his thumb and forefinger found their way around a dark, erect nipple, and she moaned. Anarchaia’s hands flew to her mouth, seemingly shocked by her own response. “You don’t have to do this for me,” she said, muffled by her own gloves.

“I know I don’t.” Grimory pushed his finger deeper, searching for – and finally coming upon – that small button at the apex of her sex. “But I want to.” He gave it a gentle stroke and relished in her reaction.

Anarchaia’s teeth clamped down on her own knuckle, a nasally hum of approval flowing from her. Her other hand clawed gently at the tendons of his at her breast.

He struggled to give more administrations to the sensitive spot – her legs were stuck tightly together despite her moans and sighs of consent. Grimory brought his free hand down to wrap around the back of one of her knees, easily prying it to the side. Even with the extra space, her pants were still fairly tight, and he had to unlace them.

Her hands found their way back over her face. “This is so embarrassing,” she whimpered.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A beat passed where he thought she may say _yes_ , but she shook her head sheepishly. “N-No…”

He pressed his lips into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sugary perfume as he pushed his fingers back between her now slick folds. He felt her leg tense and attempt to pull back toward the other but he held it fast, smiling as she mewled. With his thick fingers he made small circles atop the nub, teasing her with his restraint.

Anarchaia shook in his grasp, writhing at his mercy, her modest breasts heaving. “Grim,” she breathed, a hand wrapping around his forearm as if it were an armrest.

“Tell me how you like it,” he responded, echoing what she’d said to him at the Winter Veil celebration, and nearly reveled in his own wit.

She muttered something between huffs, a palm still over her face.

He let go of her knee to pull said hand away from her mouth by the wrist. “Louder.”

“Faster,” she gasped. “P-Please.”

Grimory complied, tightening the circles and pushing ever so gently. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he was being a bit rough or demanding, but she’d yet to show any sort of resistance. She’d even pulled her own thighs further apart to give him better access. He nibbled at her skin with sharp fangs and she rolled her head away to expose more.

She moaned, her hand coming up quickly and grabbing one of his horns. “ _Gods…_ ”

He continued on for minutes, purposely slowing when her breathing increased and slowly returning to the pace she’d requested. Each time she’d whine with frustration and pull his face into her neck.

“Stop,” she hissed.

He grinned playfully. “You want me to stop?”

“No! Stop doing that.”

“Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She ground her shoulder blades into his chest, whimpering again. “ _Please._ ”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, defeated. “You’re adorable when you’re helpless.”

She arched her back slightly when he resumed, now clawing at his thighs and panting heavily. “ _C-Close_ ,” she choked.

Taking this cue, Grimory ran his idle hand down her body, fingers grazing over a pointed tip, over her ribs – she was so thin, and upon further thought he realized he never really saw her eat – across a soft stomach, lower abdomen, finally coming to the opening at the very bottom. Still caressing her most sensitive external spot with one hand, he plunged the middle and ring finger of the other as deep inside as he could, probing the smooth, lubricated walls for her most sensitive internal one.

Her canal tightened around the intruding appendages and she gasped his name.

After only a moment of searching, she suddenly threw her head back into his shoulder and cried out into the willow branches above. Her fingers dug into his legs and she trembled, her boots scuffing across the dirt as her wail died and faltered, trailing off into a breathless squeak.

He continued to rub, only stopping after she’d collapsed back into his lap – breathing heavily and periodically jerking in his embrace. Grimory brought his useful fingers to his mouth and licked at them seductively. Salty and somehow floral.

She crumpled into him, silently gasping and shuddering, still enveloped in the throes of her climax.

Grimory took in the sight, placing a palm between her breasts to feel her racing heart while wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer.

Anarchaia panted up at him, seemingly recovering from her high if only somewhat. “You’re… a jerk…” she breathed.

He beamed devilishly down at her in return. “Then I guess that makes us even.”


End file.
